


Taste of a Poisoned Paradise

by idoltina



Category: Glee
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Other, Prostitution, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In elite New York, Blaine Anderson -- son of a senator and a socialite -- is all set to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. And as a gift to celebrate his manhood, his father buys him a night with a lovely call girl named Quinn. There's just one problem: Blaine has a boyfriend -- up and coming fashion designer Kurt Hummel. And instead of losing his virginity to a female prostitute like his father planned, said prostitute makes it her mission to help a closeted Blaine meet up with his boyfriend to lose his virginity properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of a Poisoned Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, homophobia, prostitution, underage drinking, sex

Blaine hangs his jacket on the back of the desk chair and works on tugging off his tie; it's a warm June night and the city glitters outside of his hotel room. Downstairs, he imagines the party still in full swing, his parents still nursing their glasses of champagne, sweet-talking potential campaign contributors. _Re-elect Anderson for Senator._

Blaine sighs and grips the back of the chair. This was supposed to be _his_ party. Turning eighteen, at least in this country, is a right of passage; he's allowed to be on his own, to purchase cigarettes (as if he'd risk damaging his voice) and porn, to fight for his country or go to jail. The only thing he's not allowed to do is drink -- which is stupid, really, because his parents have been building up his tolerance at these events since he was thirteen.

Oh, and run for the U.S. Senate. He's got another twelve years before he can do that. Not like he wants to, though.

So instead of being downstairs with his parents -- or, god forbid, out with his friends -- Blaine ending the night of his eighteenth birthday party alone in his ritzy hotel room waiting for his last gift to arrive. Blaine doesn't expect much -- his father never spares any expense, but every gift is always trite or meaningless or over the top, everything Blaine _doesn't_ want. The minutes tick by and he waits for the messenger to deliver a box with a Rolex or a fresh bottle of champagne. The knock on the door that comes a few minutes later is expected and answered by a slightly disgruntled Blaine, who opens it to reveal --

“You must be Blaine.”

“Um...” Blaine blinks and stares at the three women standing in front of him -- two blondes and a Latina -- all wearing rather pretty -- albeit a little short -- dresses.

“Your father sent us,” the same girl explains with a smile. “For your birthday?” She's pretty -- blonde and green eyes and a face entirely too sweet to be running errands for his father.

“Oh,” Blaine mumbles, flustered. “Yeah, just -- come in.” He stands back to let them enter the room and shuts the door quietly behind them. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Manners,” the Latina drawls, surveying the room with interest. “I'll take a gin and tonic. She'll have the same,” she adds, nodding toward the second blonde, the one who hasn't spoken yet.

Blaine moves to the minibar and sets to work, pulling out a third glass for himself and offering a fourth to the first girl, who smiles and nods. “So what's the plan?” he asks, fighting to keep the boredom and irritation out of his voice. “Are we going out or are we waiting for something else to arrive --”

“We thought we'd stay here for the night,” the green-eyed blonde offers kindly, “since it's your first time and everything.”

Blaine's brow wrinkles in confusion as the girls take their drinks but the second blonde speaks before he can question the other. “This was nice of your dad,” she says brightly. “To do this for your birthday.”

“Yeah,” Blaine laughs bitterly. “I guess. I guess he didn't want me to get lonely. What are your names?” He's too polite not to ask even if he's not all that interested in spending the night with three complete strangers.

“Quinn,” the blonde with green eyes says, smiling.

“I'm Tanya, and that's Duchess,” the Latina says, gesturing to the blonde after she introduces herself. “The Unholy Trinity,” she proclaims, raising her glass. The girls exchange a smile.

“So you all know each other?” Blaine asks, taking a swig from his glass and leaning against the bar.

“For about two years,” Tanya affirms, “but we've only used that nickname in advertising for about a year.”

Blaine opens his mouth to ask a question because he is _seriously_ confused as to what the deal is here -- what the gift is, why the girls are here -- but Quinn's phone rings in her purse. “Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” she rushes out, fumbling for her phone. “I always turn it off before work --” She glances down at the screen and frowns, biting her lip. “Excuse me, just one minute,” she promises. “I'll be right back.” She steps outside of the room and closes the door quietly behind her.

“So,” Tanya says, setting her glass down on the table. “Did you have something in mind, honey? I know it's your first time, but your daddy figured you'd like some variety, and B -- Duchess and I are up for almost anything-”

“I don't --” Blaine starts, shifting uncomfortably as Duchess rubs a hand up and down his arm.

“Relax,” Tanya purrs, pressing her lips against his ear. “We're professionals. Plus, virgins are kind of our specialty.” Blaine chokes and stiffens, dropping his glass clumsily onto the bar.

His father bought him a prostitute. His _father_ bought him a prostitute. His father bought him a _prostitute_. For his _birthday_. _Three_ of them.

“I -- I don't --” he stammers, looking wildly between them.

“Maybe we should make out,” Duchess offers. “It'll help him relax.”

“Works for me,” Tanya says with a shrug. “Lay down, sugar. Just watch for a while.”

She doesn't really leave Blaine with much of an option and pushes him back onto the bed. Blaine shrinks back into the pillows and rests against the headboard, staring wide-eyed as the girls settle in at the foot of the bed. Tanya tugs Duchess in for a kiss and completely ignores Blaine. “Oh,” Blaine says quietly. “You don't -- you don't have to --”

“Sorry about that,” Quinn apologizes again as she slinks back into the room. “I'm all yours for the rest of the night.” She casts an amused eye at Tanya and Duchess perched on the edge of the bed, Tanya's fingers reaching for the zipper on the back of Duchess' dress. “I see the girls got started.”

“Yeah,” Blaine breathes. “But... I don't...”

Quinn surveys his face for a moment and seems to take pity on him. “'Tana,” she says firmly, snapping her fingers to get her attention. “Take it easy. He's a virgin.”

“I know that,” Tanya drawls in a bored voice. “Hence why B -- Duchess and I are getting our mack on here --”

“Can you pretend to have class for five minutes?” Quinn snaps.

“Lima Heights Adjacent,” Tanya says, smiling at Blaine like that explains something. “But don't worry honey, I know what I'm doing. I wouldn't charge as much as I do if I didn't --”

“Miss Pillsbury is acutely aware of your skills, 'Tana,” Quinn says coldly. “The point is that you're still freaking him out and this isn't about you.”

“Ugh, fine,” Tanya groans, pulling away from Duchess begrudgingly. “What do you suggest, Princess?”

Quinn looks at Blaine again, still backed against the headboard and looking terrified, and softens a little. “Let me solo.”

“No way,” Tanya says angrily. “Do you know how much money that is --”

“Senator Anderson was kind enough to pay in advance -- twice what we normally charge for the trinity,” Quinn says in a business-like manner. “You and B can take your shares and leave. He's not up for this,” she adds, nodding at Blaine.

Tanya relaxes considerably. “That's more like it, sister,” she says brightly. Quinn takes a large stack of bills from her purse and hands two-thirds of it to Tanya, who takes it eagerly and fans herself with it. “Kid, you've got it made,” she purrs. “Your daddy takes such good care of you. Be good to our girl.”

And suddenly Blaine is _alone_ with Quinn and she's sidling up next to him warmly, fingers brushing against his jaw. “Just relax,” she says softly.

“My -- my dad,” Blaine stammers, trying to shift away from her and failing miserably. “My dad h -- hired you to --”

“Don't worry about that,” Quinn says impatiently, working open the first two buttons of Blaine's shirt. “We get clients like your dad all of the time. It's in everyone's best interest to be discreet.” She looks up at him and smiles again, and seriously, the girl cannot be a hooker because her face is just so kind --

Quinn leans in slowly, closes her eyes, and plants her lips against Blaine's. Blaine makes a noise of surprise but it's swallowed by Quinn's lips, soft and firm and moving against his and Blaine doesn't even move, just sits there rigidly --

“Work with me,” Quinn murmurs against him. “I know you're nervous, honey, but I can't just _take_ it from you. You have to do _something_.”

Blaine raises his hands to push away from her a little, but Quinn misinterprets the gesture and takes his hands, guiding them around to her back, letting his fingers fall against the zipper of her dress. And then his lap is just full of her and she's everywhere at once, legs straddling either side of him; her lips work on his neck and her fingers resume undoing the buttons on his shirt, trailing down further and further to his waistband. Blaine freezes up again --

“What's the matter, baby?” Quinn says, somehow managing to whine and sound seductive all at once. “Don't you like girls?” she teases.

“N -- no,” Blaine blurts shakily.

Quinn continues to kiss his neck for a minute but then seems to realize what his answer actually means and she pulls back abruptly, staring down at him with wide eyes. “You're _gay_?” she asks incredulously.

Blaine starts to tremble against her, finally reaching out to touch at the small of her back. “Please, please don't say anything to my dad --”

“Oh my _god_ ,” she huffs out, climbing out of his lap. “You're not -- you're not even a virgin,” she says, and she starts _laughing_. “You're just gay and in the closet --” Blaine bites his lip and pulls his knees up to his chest again, not quite meeting Quinn's gaze. “Oh,” she amends quietly. “You _are_ a virgin. You're just --”

“Gay,” Blaine supplies. “Gay _and_ a virgin. Cruel joke, I know --”

Quinn reaches out and rests a hand on his knee, but for the first time all night, it doesn't make Blaine uncomfortable. Her touch is affectionate -- almost motherly -- and her smile makes him relax a little. “I'm sorry,” she says. “It must suck, being a senator's son.”

“Like you wouldn't believe,” he mutters. “I didn't want any of this.”

“Obviously,” Quinn laughs.

“You don't have to stay,” Blaine says miserably. “You can just -- I mean, keep the money. But you can just go...”

Quinn surveys him for a minute, tilting her head to the side, before answering. “Would you be more comfortable if I called a friend?” she offers. “Your dad said you were starting college in the fall. Miss Pillsbury offers more services; I know this guy --”

“No!” Blaine squawks. “It's -- I don't want to --”

“You don't want to lose your virginity to a whore,” Quinn says simply. “I understand.”

“I wouldn't call you that,” Blaine says quietly. “You're obviously high-end and... you're nice,” he admits. “The nicest call girl I've ever met --”

“Aren't I the only call girl you've ever met?” Quinn asks with a laugh.

“Well, unless you count the other two,” Blaine reasons. “By the way -- Duchess? Seriously? That can't be her real name.”

“It's not,” Quinn laughs, settling comfortably on the bed.

“You both kept calling her B,” Blaine points out. “And Tanya, you had another name for her --”

“You're observant,” Quinn notes. “Your daddy better keep an eye on you. You could spill a whole lot of secrets.”

“I wouldn't,” Blaine insists. “I can't even share my own.”

Quinn looks at him for a moment, her eyes sad, and then says, “Brittany. And Santana. Those are their real names.”

“Normal names,” Blaine says with relief. “When they... when they kissed,” he begins hesitantly, “was that just part of the job, or...?”

“Oh, no,” Quinn supplies. “No, Brit and 'Tana, they're the real thing, actually. Everything else is just the job.” Blaine looks away from her and Quinn scoots a little closer. “You're not always going to be alone,” she promises. “I know it might be a while, because of your dad --”

“I'm not alone,” Blaine says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn blinks, surprised, but then a smile slowly starts to spread across her face. “You've got a boyfriend,” she teases, batting Blaine on the arm. Blaine blushes. “Spill,” she urges.

“I --” he starts and then hesitates, glancing at her warily. “You don't have to do this,” he mumbles, the smile fading from his face. “You don't have to stay and be nice to me just because my dad paid you --”

“Believe me, I'm not,” she says coldly. “But if you don't want to talk to me about it, then I guess that's my cue to leave.” She pushes herself up off of the bed and reaches down to grab her stilettos --

“No, wait,” Blaine gasps. “It's -- it's not because you're a prostitute!” he blurts. “I just... _no one_ knows, really, and I'm just... I'm afraid...”

Quinn looks at him sympathetically and sits back down, resting her hand on his. “Tell me about him.”

Blaine looks at her gratefully and inhales sharply. “His name is Kurt --”

“Kurt?” she parrots, arching an eyebrow. “Not Kurt _Hummel_?”

“You know him,” Blaine says weakly.

“All of New York knows who he is,” Quinn hisses. “Just eighteen and an up-and-coming fashion designer, son of _Burt_ Hummel, king of the oil industry?”

“Yeah, that's him,” Blaine owns, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I mean, it's no big secret that he's gay, but -- does his _dad_ know?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, actually,” Blaine admits. “His dad's cool with it. It's just...”

“Yours,” Quinn supplies, nose wrinkling. “I don't get it,” she argues. “Burt Hummel contributes millions to your dad's campaign,” she reasons. “Why wouldn't your dad --”

“Do you even know what wing of politics my dad resides in?” Blaine asks bitterly. “He wouldn't give a damn if it was Burt's son; it's against everything he believes in --”

“Which is why you haven't come out to him,” Quinn muses. “And why he hired me to --”

“Help me become a man?” Blaine ventures icily.

Quinn's eyes narrow but Blaine can tell her anger isn't directed at him; she's quiet for a moment before she finally says, very quietly, “I shouldn't be here.”

“You don't have to leave --” Blaine says, reaching out for her hand. “I appreciate the company -- the party downstairs was awful anyway --”

“No,” Quinn says, shaking her head. “I meant I shouldn't be the one up here taking your virginity. It should be Kurt.”

“I -- _what_?” Blaine asks, jaw hanging open.

“Call him,” Quinn offers, handing Blaine his phone from the nightstand. “Tell him to meet you here.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Blaine squeaks.

“I'm a prostitute, not a mental patient,” Quinn deadpans. “Just trust me on this. It's better this way.”

Blaine hesitates, weighing his options and trying to gauge Quinn's thoughts, but her face is still the same: simple and open and honest and kind --

Blaine draws in a breath and taps out a text to Kurt -- _I need to see you tonight_ \-- before settling awkwardly against the pillows again. “I can't believe I'm letting a prostitute help me pop my cherry.”

“Well I'm not the one doing it,” Quinn says reasonably, “and besides, you don't even have a cherry to pop.”

Blaine's phone starts to shake in his hand -- the sounds of Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream_ fill the room (Quinn smirks) -- and he brings it to his ear. “Hey baby,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Kurt says brightly on the other end. “Want me to arrange a faux kidnapping? Get you out of that awful party? Tina says there's a rave in the city, or we can go to our usual cafe in the Village, if you want something more low-key --”

“Can you come here?” Blaine asks shakily.

“What, to the hotel?” Kurt clarifies, clearly surprised.

“Yeah,” Blaine breathes. “Just -- up to my room? Avoid the party altogether? I just want to spend some time alone with you...”

He can practically _feel_ Kurt smiling through the phone. “Sure,” Kurt says amicably. “I can catch a cab over, but it'll probably take me a while since it's Friday night --”

“That's fine,” Blaine assures him. “Just let me know when you're here.”

When he hangs up, his wallpaper -- a picture of him and Kurt -- lights up the screen; Quinn leans over to look at it, smiling. “Oh my god,” she gushes. “You guys are adorable.”

“Thanks,” Blaine laughs, blushing. “So... what now?”

“We get you ready,” Quinn says seriously, pulling Blaine from the bed. “And the first thing you need to do is shower.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, faltering. “I don't think I have enough product to redo my hair, though --”

“Size of a dime,” Quinn instructs with a wave of her hand. “You want him to be able to run his fingers through your hair.” Blaine's flush turns a deep scarlet. “Go,” Quinn laughs, shoving him into the bathroom.

When he emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, he pulls the bathrobe a little more tightly around him. Quinn rolls her eyes. “Nothing I haven't seen before, sweetheart,” she reminds him. “Put these back on,” she says, handing him his slacks and shirt. “And leave the first few buttons undone.”

“So am I seducing him?” Blaine asks from behind the door, stepping into his pants. “Is that what this has become?”

“Well who better to take seduction lessons from than a prostitute?” she reasons, laughing.

“Still,” Blaine says hesitantly, emerging from the bathroom as he buttons up his shirt again, “I'm not really all that comfortable with the idea...”

“The point is to look good,” she says, “smell good. _Feel_ good. Even if you don't lose your v-card to him tonight, at least you'll be ready for it.” Blaine sighs and reaches up a hand to tug uncomfortably at his damp curly hair. “Let me take care of that,” she offers, pressing down on his shoulder so that he sits at the desk chair.

Slowly, she works small amounts of product into his hair, arranging his locks in one fashion, and then another, her lips pursed as she focuses. “You're a woman of many talents,” Blaine teases. “You're not only a prostitute, you're a hairdresser.”

Quinn laughs. “And a waitress.”

“Wait, really?” Blaine asks, looking up at her reflection in the mirror.

She freezes, hands hanging in mid-air over his head, as she realizes the admission. She meets his eyes in the mirror for a brief moment before turning her attention back to his hair. “Yes,” she says shortly.

“Wow,” Blaine breathes. “I figured, with the kind of money you make from this, that you wouldn't need --”

“I don't,” Quinn admits. “I was a waitress long before this job came around. I figure I need some sort of sense of normalcy because, admittedly, this job isn't --”

“Isn't your everyday, nine to five kind of job?” Blaine supplies. Quinn nods. “How old are you?” Blaine asks quietly.

For the first time all night, Quinn looks acutely uncomfortable. Playing with one last lock of hair, she steps into the bathroom to wash off her hands and avoid Blaine's gaze. “Old enough.”

“How old?” Blaine asks again.

“Nineteen,” she finally says. “Like I said, old enough.”

“Santana said you've known each other for two years,” Blaine remembers. “Have you really been --”

“No,” Quinn cuts in. “Miss Pillsbury is strict about that. No one can start seeing clients until they're eighteen. Our business is... illicit enough as it is.”

“She sounds like a decent person,” Blaine says lamely.

“She is,” Quinn says honestly, emerging from the bathroom. Her eyes are a little warmer. “She -- she really takes care of us. She's a good madam.”

“Do they still call them that?” Blaine laughs. “Madams?”

Quinn shrugs but a smile plays at her lips. “Texas breeding,” she quips playfully.

“You're from Texas?” Blaine asks interestedly, plopping back down on the bed.

“Don't wrinkle those,” Quinn warns, settling in across from him. “Yes, but enough about me,” she says dismissively. “Tell me how you and Kurt met.”

Blaine smiles fondly. “Prep school,” he admits. “He started at York two years ago when he and his dad moved out here from Ohio. We met in choir.”

“You sing?” Quinn asks, eyes shining. “Me too. Well, I used to.”

“A little,” Blaine says sheepishly. “Kurt's better.”

Quinn grins. “Is this one of those stories where he serenades you and you fall in love with his voice- -”

“Do you already know this story?” Blaine asks wryly.

“Oh my god,” Quinn laughs, burying her face in her hands. “Seriously, you're so adorable it's nauseating, and I can stomach fairy tales way better than 'Tana can.” Still, she smiles, and it's never been this easy before, to be able to sit and just talk to someone about his relationship with Kurt, to talk about Kurt at all. It's kind of nice, even if she is a prostitute. “So what did he sing?”

“ _Don't Cry for Me Argentina_ ,” Blaine tells her.

“ _Evita_ ,” Quinn says dreamily, lying down on her side and propping her chin up with her hand. “And then what? Did you ask him to stay after class and tell him you wanted to make out in darkened alcoves and adopt lots of babies together?”

“No!” Blaine protests indignantly, laughing. “Okay, maybe the kissing in darkened alcoves bit --”

“I knew it,” Quinn says with a grin. She's quiet for a moment as her grin fades, and then she ventures, “Does it bother him? The fact that you're in the closet?”

Blaine blinks, fighting the sting that burns against his eyes. “No,” he says thickly. “I mean, he says it doesn't. He knows what it's like, to have a parent who's in the public eye --”

“It's not the same,” Quinn argues. “His dad runs a business. Your dad is in politics; he has to care what people think.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says darkly. “It's not like I _want_ to be closeted.”

“It sounds like he understands, though,” Quinn says comfortingly. “Kurt, I mean.” She bites her lip, and then, “You're eighteen, now, though. Have you considered --”

“Coming out?” Blaine finishes. “Yeah. And I could. I _could_. Kurt's dad was really nice about it -- he said he'd let me work in his office part-time while I went to school as a means of paying rent --”

“Wait,” Quinn interrupts, holding up a hand. “He invited you to _live_ with them?”

“Yeah,” Blaine huffs out. “I told him I probably couldn't come out without my dad flat out disowning me and he --”

“Do it,” Quinn says immediately. Blaine stares at her disbelievingly. “No, I'm serious, Blaine. Do it. Money is nice and all, but it's not everything.”

“Then why do you do it?” Blaine argues. “Why do you... do what you do?”

“Why do I sell my body?” she says dryly. “Why do I turn tricks? Don't give me that face, I don't care if I charge an arm and a leg for it, it's still turning tricks.” She considers him for a moment. “Because I'm not the only one I have to support.”

Blaine studies her face and then, upon realization, his eyes grow wide. “You have a _kid_?” he breathes incredulously.

“A daughter,” Quinn admits quietly. “Beth. She's three.”

“You had her young, then,” Blaine figures.

“Sixteen,” Quinn reminisces. “Couldn't keep it a secret forever. My parents kicked me out. I know what you're up against.”

“Jesus,” Blaine hisses. “What did you do? You said you didn't start working as a call girl until --”

“Waitressing, remember?” she reminds him. “My friend Mercedes took me in. Her parents own the diner I work at.”

“And that's why you've stayed,” Blaine says. “Because they were there when you needed them the most.”

“And it sounds like Kurt and his dad are offering to do the same for you,” Quinn reasons. “I'd jump at that.”

Blaine smiles weakly at her. “So let's see: you're a prostitute, a waitress, a hairdresser, a mom, and a therapist. Anything else? Should I ask for a card?” he teases, and then claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, no, I didn't mean --”

“Public health official,” she jokes dryly, laughing, “though really, it's just the knowledge that comes with being in this business.” She opens her purse and dumps most of its contents into the nightstand drawer, ignoring Blaine's gawks and protests. “Can you stop being such a virgin for one minute?” she asks, exasperated. “If you have sex with Kurt tonight, at least you'll be prepared. Plenty of condoms. There's even a bottle of lube in there --”

“Those are your work supplies,” Blaine says lamely, shifting awkwardly on the bed.

“Oh my god,” Quinn laughs. “Seriously, it is not a big deal. Just take them and say, 'Thank you, Quinn.'”

Blaine opens his mouth to reply but his phone rings again, and this time, Quinn sings along -- _the way you turn me on_ \-- even as Blaine bats her shoulder to shush her. “Hey you,” Blaine greets happily. “Are you here yet?”

“Downstairs,” Kurt affirms breathlessly. “It is impossible to avoid the people from the party -- I've already gotten stopped twice by people complimenting my work --”

“So popular,” Blaine teases. “How did I ever manage to land a guy like you?”

“Shut up,” Kurt says, and Blaine knows he's blushing on the other end. “What room are you in?”

“315,” Blaine tells him. “Try not to let your legions of fans keep you too long. I miss you.”

“My feet have wings,” Kurt assures him, laughing.

“And I'll take that as my cue to leave then,” Quinn announces as Blaine hangs up the phone. She slips back into her stilettos and grabs her mostly empty purse before making her way to the door, Blaine at her side. “Good luck,” she says fondly, reaching up to pat his cheek.

“I'd say thank you,” Blaine says hesitantly, still trying to keep the mood light, “but I don't your name.”

Quinn blinks and then seems to register his request. She considers him for a moment before finally whispering, “Lucy.”

“Well then,” Blaine says warmly, taking her hands in his, “Lucy. Thank you for... just, everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” She studies him for a moment before squeezing his hand tightly. “Think about what I said, okay? About coming out and taking Mr. Hummel up on his offer. It's... it's not everything, but it's a step above where I am. I don't want to see you out working corners,” she deadpans dryly.

“I promise, if I resort to prostitution to support myself, I will seek you out for a crash course,” Blaine swears, holding up a hand as an oath and biting back a smile.

She lets his hand and he opens the door for her, watching her walk a few steps down the hallway, trying to burn the image of her sweet face onto his retinas and into his memory --

Kurt steps out of the elevator as Quinn brushes past him; they exchange a glance and then Quinn is looking back at Blaine, grinning. Kurt follows her gaze and arches an eyebrow, watching her disappear behind closed doors before making his way over to Blaine. “Who was that?”

“That,” Blaine sighs, leaning against the door frame, “was a prostitute.”

“O-kay,” Kurt says slowly, looking confused. “So are you bi, or something? Because if you wanted to get laid, we could have at least _talked_ about --”

“I didn't have sex with her,” Blaine laughs. “I'm definitely gay, I just -- can we go inside and talk about this?” he asks, gesturing toward his room.

“So explain to me why you had a hooker in your hotel room?” Kurt asks with a laugh once they're inside.

“My dad hired her,” Blaine says shortly.

“Oh honey,” Kurt soothes, reaching out and settling his hands on Blaine's waist. “I'm sorry. That -- on your birthday too, that's awful --”

“He did it _for_ my birthday,” Blaine explains. “Eighteen and time to be a man-”

“So he sent you a prostitute to lose your virginity to?” Kurt asks incredulously.

“Three, actually,” Blaine says, remembering. “It was a nightmare.”

“Your dad is certifiably insane,” Kurt declares, absently running his fingers through Blaine's hair. “I can't believe him.”

“The one you saw,” Blaine clarifies. “Lu -- Quinn. She was actually really nice. We talked about you.”

“Did you now?” Kurt asks teasingly. “She try and coerce you into convincing me to design a line of high end clothes for high-priced call girls?”

“No,” Blaine laughs, batting at Kurt's shoulder. “It's just... I don't get to talk about you with anyone, really. It was nice.”

“Mmm,” Kurt muses, nuzzling his nose against Blaine's neck. “Well, I'm here now. Talk about me all you want. It's great for my ego.”

“Your ego doesn't need it,” Blaine throws back.

“Mean,” Kurt mumbles against his neck. “So why'd you ask me to come up here then? Did your darling prostitute suggest you lose your virginity to your actual boyfriend instead of her? I can't imagine she would, with what that must do to her commission --” Blaine draws back slightly, sucking in a breath, and Kurt does the same, looking up at him curiously. “She did,” Kurt says slowly. “You -- oh my god. _You asked me up here so you could try and seduce me!_ ”

“It wasn't my idea!” Blaine protests. “I wasn't planning on actually going through with it -- I just wanted to see you...” he says miserably.

Kurt waits a moment before responding. “Pity,” he says finally. “I actually would've been game for losing our v-cards tonight, but if you'd rather just cuddle and turn on HBO --”

“Did you just offer to have sex with me?” Blaine asks breathlessly.

Kurt bites his lip. “Maybe? But like I said, if you didn't even really want --”

“Are you kidding?” Blaine leans back in, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist and tugging him closer. “I'd so rather do this with you tonight. I...” Kurt tilts his head and waits for Blaine to continue, and the blue in his eyes is so warm and inviting and _piercing_ \-- “Do you think your dad's offer still stands?” he asks timidly.

“My dad's --” Kurt starts, nose wrinkling in confusion, but then he realizes what Blaine's referring to and his eyes widen a little. “Oh,” he says breathlessly. “You mean about the job and moving in and --”

“Coming out,” Blaine says definitively. “I'd want a little more time to make sure it's a clean break, but --”

“Was this the p -- Quinn's idea?”

“No,” Blaine denies. “It was your dad's idea to begin with. I told her about it, though.”

“And she thought you should do it?” Blaine nods. “I think I love her.”

Blaine laughs. “How does that song go? _I'm in love with a stripper..._ ”

“She's not a stripper, she's a prostitute,” Kurt snaps, but the smile on his face betrays any facade of annoyance he might be trying to put up. “Too bad you don't have her card. I'd send her a fruit basket as a thank you gift.” Blaine chuckles but Kurt bites his lip, still unsure. “Why?” he asks finally. “Why are you doing this? Not that I don't want you to come out -- it's just...”

“Money isn't everything,” Blaine says gently. Quinn's green eyes muddle with Kurt's blue ones for a minute, but then Kurt comes back into focus and a breath leaves Blaine's chest rather haphazardly. “I love you,” he breathes.

“You... what?” Kurt chokes, eyes wide.

“We've been together two years,” Blaine says, trying to reason with himself as much as Kurt. “I -- it's almost stupid I haven't said it before now. But I do. I want to come out and have real dates and hold your hand in public. I will give all of this up,” he insists, gesturing around the room, “because I love you.” Kurt smiles a little, eyes shining, and Blaine feels a little braver. “And tonight, while I still have it, I want to use it to my advantage. I want you to be the one I share this with.”

Kurt's breath hitches and his hands tremble on Blaine's hips. “You -- you want me to be the to --”

“Yes,” Blaine says simply. “I want you to take it.”

“I guess I should be flattered,” Kurt quips in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You refused a professional just so you could have sex with me.”

“She wasn't my type anyway,” Blaine dismisses, grinning. “If you don't want to, it's okay --” he says in a rush, suddenly panicking. “I really didn't mean to push you into --”

“Blaine,” Kurt says calmly, “I want to. I just want to make sure that... that _you're_ sure. That you're not just doing this because your dad sent a hooker up to your room --”

“I'm not,” Blaine insists. “But look, I showered and everything!”

“I noticed,” Kurt laughs. “Did she do your hair?”

“Yes,” Blaine admits sheepishly, blushing. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Kurt enthuses, playing with the loose curls. “Much easier to grab hold of --”

Blaine leans forward and crushes his lips against Kurt's, eliciting a slight moan from his boyfriend. They kiss hungrily for a few moments, tongues twisting around each other as their hands grip each others' waists tightly. “Bed,” Kurt gasps, breaking the kiss momentarily. “Bed.”

Blaine hooks his fingers into the loops of Kurt's jeans and tugs, stumbling backward and falling onto the mattress without grace. Kurt leans forward, legs on either side of Blaine, and presses their lips together again, his fingers trailing down to undo the buttons of Blaine's shirt. And it's _so_ much better than earlier, not just because Kurt's doing this for free and he's a man but because it's _Kurt_ and Blaine is so comfortable, so at home, so himself. “Kurt,” Blaine groans as Kurt slides the shirt off of Blaine's shoulders, his fingers raking through Blaine's chest hair. “ _Kurt._ ” He reaches down to tug Kurt's shirt off but the damn thing is so fucking _complicated_ that Blaine huffs out in frustration. “Off,” he whines.

Kurt makes short work of his own shirt, tossing it to the floor rather carelessly for a designer and leaning back into to kiss Blaine again, something he can't seem to get enough of tonight. Blaine gasps as Kurt's fingers tug at Blaine's belt, working furiously to rid Blaine of his pants. “Okay?” Kurt mumbles as he presses kisses down Blaine's neck.

“ _God, yes_ ,” Blaine groans, throwing his head back against the pillow to grant Kurt more access to his neck. “I am so glad you're not a prostitute.”

“Me too,” Kurt says wryly, tugging Blaine's pants down with a half-annoyed expression.

“No, I'm serious,” Blaine huffs out, shivering as Kurt's hands run over his bare legs. “I don't care how much people would be willing to pay. I am _not_ sharing you.”

“That's better,” Kurt says with a smile, fingers tracing at the waistband of Blaine's boxers as he moves back up for another kiss.

“Unfair,” Blaine grits out, squirming in a valiant fight to not completely give himself over to Kurt's ministrations. “You're still half-dressed.”

“How about a hand?” Kurt asks, gesturing to his jeans. “You have to do some of the work here.” Blaine squeezes his eyes shut at that for a minute because _seriously_ , so much better when it's coming from his boyfriend rather than a prostitute.

Huffing out, he leans forward a little, sitting up and fumbling with the button of Kurt's jeans, tugging down helplessly. “They're so tight,” he whines. “Why do you even wear these?”

“Because my ass looks amazing in them,” Kurt deadpans. Blaine looks up at him once the jeans are down to Kurt's knees. “You know it's true.”

“Maybe,” Blaine allows, tugging the jeans all the way off, “but I think I like it better out of them, if I'm being honest.”

“Take the briefs off and we'll see,” Kurt challenges, arching his back toward Blaine a little.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Blaine hisses, resting his forehead against Kurt's stomach. “Who needs prostitutes? Who needs porn? Who needs any of the stupid fucking things I can get now that I'm eighteen? Who needs any of it when I've got _you_?”

“You're romantic and cheesy and I love you,” Kurt concedes. “Now will you please take my underwear off before I murder you?”

“That's not nice,” Blaine mumbles, catching the waistband of Kurt's briefs between his teeth and tugging down gently. Kurt hisses as he inhales sharply, fingers tangling in Blaine's hair. Blaine uses his hands to help tug them down the rest of the way, and then -- “ _Wow_ ,” Blaine breathes, mouth watering a little. “Can I --?”

“Be my guest,” Kurt breathes, settling back on his knees and straightening a little. Blaine's mouth sinks over him tentatively, just the head at first, tongue lapping over the slit and then the underside. “Blaine,” Kurt groans, grabbing at his hair a little harder. Blaine moans around him, torn between sinking down further and pulling back into Kurt's hand. Kurt pulls him forward and then back, setting a slow rhythm for Blaine to follow. Blaine hums appreciatively, hands wrapping around to grab at Kurt's ass as he bobs -- “Mmm,” Kurt moans pleasantly. “Better out of the jeans?”

Blaine takes one last long drag up off of Kurt's cock, tongue lingering behind for a moment, before looking up at him, eyes dark. “Everything about you is better like this,” he insists, tugging Kurt back down on top of him. “Everything about you is better than everything else.”

“Apparently,” Kurt says with a laugh.

They exchange a small smile for a moment as Blaine's fingers trace circles over Kurt's shoulder blades; Kurt reaches up to brush a lock of hair from Blaine's eyes and the look in his eyes causes Blaine to exhale sharply. “Will you?” Blaine breathes. “Please?”

Kurt swallows but nods fervently, reaching down to tug Blaine's boxers off. “You're ridiculously hard, anyway,” he observes. “You'd probably die otherwise --”

“Kurt,” Blaine cuts in roughly, arching up toward Kurt's hands. “Can we just not with the jokes right now? Can you just...”

“What?” Kurt asks, tilting his head. “Tell me what you want, Blaine.”

“Touch me,” Blaine pleads.

Kurt obliges, wrapping a hand around Blaine's cock and stroking slowly, his grip loose at first but more firm, more sure, after a moment when Blaine starts writhing beneath him, moaning and making all _sorts_ of delicious noises with his ridiculously perfect vocal chords. Kurt adjusts his hips, angling his aching cock away from Blaine to try and fight the desire to just rut against him. It's when Kurt's thumb rubs over a drop of pre-come that he stops suddenly, eyes wide. “Wait, what, no,” Blaine huffs out, looking down at Kurt. “Why'd you stop?”

“Because,” Kurt says nervously, “I know what you want and I can't give it to you. I didn't bring -- I wasn't planning on this tonight. I don't have a condom --”

“Already taken care of,” Blaine says dismissively, wrenching open the nightstand drawer. “Hand back on my dick, please.”

Kurt ignores him and leans over to peer into the drawer, eyebrows raised. “Where did you _get_ all of that?” he asks. Blaine takes a second to let some of the blood rush back to his head, to think, and then he remembers -- “Oh my god,” Kurt says in a low voice. “She left them here, didn't she?”

“Her idea,” Blaine says as a last ditch effort. “Please don't tell me you're above using them. _Please._ Because I _will_ die if we don't use those.”

“It's fine,” Kurt says, reaching for a wrapper and the bottle. “It's just incredibly amusing, that's all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blaine says darkly, shifting his hips and dropping his legs open. “Are we going to be thinking her while you're inside of me?”

“No,” Kurt whispers, swallowing thickly.

“Good,” Blaine says, arching upward a little. “Mind stretching me a little?” Kurt shakes his head and coats his fingers, hesitantly pressing a finger into Blaine, moving around slightly. “Hmmpf.”

“Okay?” Kurt asks, resting his cheek against Blaine's thigh.

“Yeah,” Blaine grits out, holding up two fingers to indicate what he wants. “It's just been awhile since I've -- _oh_ ,” he breathes, bearing down around Kurt's fingers. “Add one more, just for the stretch,” he instructs. “And then go back to two.”

“Is two a magic number?” Kurt teases, adding a third finger.

“Your fingers are what's magical,” Blaine murmurs nonsensically, his hips bucking up a little. He struggles to focus, and then, “It's just easier for me to move with two, so I just assumed --”

“I know what you want,” Kurt murmurs, lips planting feather-light kisses on Blaine's thighs. He switches back to two fingers after a moment, pushes in, and crooks his fingers a little. “This?” Kurt asks as Blaine's mouth drops open.

“Yes,” he gasps. “But... I need you. I need you in me now. Otherwise this is going to be over.”

“We can't have that, now, can we?” Kurt removes his fingers and rolls a condom onto his cock, hovering over Blaine. “This is what you want,” Kurt says one more time, looking at Blaine questioningly.

“Oh my god, yes,” Blaine babbles, tugging Kurt forward. “I want _you_.”

Kurt smiles as his face flushes with pleasure and then he's pressing into Blaine without further hesitation, stretching and pushing in deeper -- “Blaine,” he breathes, burying his face into Blaine's neck as he settles in all the way. “ _Blaine_.”

“Move,” Blaine pleads, turning his head slightly to kiss Kurt awkwardly. Kurt lifts his head to meet him, lips buzzing and tingling against each other, and he obeys, pivoting forward. “ _Fuck_ ,” Blaine breathes, grabbing onto Kurt's shoulders.

“Do -- do you want me to --” Kurt stutters out breathlessly as he thrusts forward. His eyes glance down between them at Blaine's cock for a moment.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, tugging Kurt closer. “Please.” Kurt reaches a hand down between them and resumes stroking, forced to keep the same pace as his hips.

Kurt rocks against him for a few heady moments, his weight becoming heavier against Blaine's chest. “Blaine,” he chokes out. “I -- I'm going to --”

“Right behind you,” Blaine assures him, pulling Kurt impossibly closer, bucking up into Kurt's hand slightly. Kurt buries his face back into Blaine's shoulder and thrusts forward, hard, whining slightly in Blaine's ear. He repeats the motion one, two, three times, and then Blaine is trembling, coming suddenly between them, a damp heat covering Kurt's hand. Kurt cries out in surprise and follows within seconds, gripping at Blaine's skin tightly, skin reddening beneath his touch.

Once his breathing even out, Blaine turns his head slightly, nudging Kurt with his nose. “Hey,” he groans. “Can you get up?”

“No,” Kurt whines, burying his face further into the nook between Blaine's neck and shoulder. “Sex is _exhausting_.”

“Come on,” Blaine says, laughing slightly. “I need to clean up --”

Kurt huffs out in annoyance and pushes himself up with hands, slipping out of Blaine slowly. He makes short work of the clean-up, wiping Blaine's abdomen with a tissue and tossing it in the wastebasket with the condom quickly before curling back up into Blaine's side. “Happy?”

“Incredibly,” Blaine says with a grin. “Best loss of virginity ever.”

“You have no basis for comparison,” Kurt argues, but his voice is too tired to follow through and he slings an arm over Blaine's stomach, gripping at his waist warmly.

“Well in comparison to what could have happened here tonight...” Blaine muses.

“Oh my god,” Kurt groans. “Seriously, that would have been awful. You couldn't tell anyone the truth about how you lost your virginity.”

“And I can now?” Blaine laughs, wrapping an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

“Of course you can,” Kurt says dismissively. “Just leave out the part where your dad bought you a hooker.”

“Three,” Blaine reminds him. “I guess I _can_ leave that part out, can't I? Since my dad's not gonna be a part of the picture anymore.”

“Exactly,” Kurt says with a grin, leaning up to kiss Blaine. When he pulls back, he looks at Blaine fondly for a minute before dropping his voice and adding, “I do love you, you know.”

Blaine's heart stops for the space of three seconds and then starts beating again. “I know,” he says as calmly as he can. “You're gonna stay tonight, right?” he asks hopefully.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Kurt insists, snuggling closer. “What are you going to tell your dad in the morning?”

“The truth,” Blaine says.

“I thought you wanted a little more time,” Kurt says, confused, “so that it was a clean break.”

“I do,” Blaine amends. “But he's probably only interested in making sure I actually leave this room not a virgin. And I don't have to lie about that.”

“No,” Kurt agrees, grinning, “you don't.”

“You know,” Blaine muses, pulling the comforter over them both, “this birthday turned out a lot better than I thought it would.”

“I take full credit for that.”

“Take it,” Blaine offers with a small smile. “I'm all yours.”


End file.
